Go, o zealot! Never bid me Unto heaven; sooth to say
Go, o zealot! Never bid me Unto heaven; sooth to say,
God of Paradise's people Made me not the Primal Day.
Not a wheatcorn from the harvest Of existence shall he reap
Who, in this abode of frailty, Hath not sown in Truth's highway.
Thine be rosary and prayer-place, Pious works and use austere,
Tavern mine and gong and convent, Magian wine and Christian lay!
Nay, forbid us not from drinking, Soilless Soufi; for the Lord
With sheer wine, in the Beginning, Mixed and kneaded this our clay.
No true Soufi, fit for heaven,'s He who hath not, like to me,
Left his patchcoat in the tavern Pawned, his scot for wine to pay.
Ease of Houri's lips and Heaven's Pleasaunces is not for him
Who the skirt of the Beloved Letteth from his hand away.
Hafiz, so God's grace and favour Overwatch and succour thee,
Be thou quit of Hell's concernment And assured from Heaven aye.
God of Paradise's people Made me not the Primal Day.
Not a wheatcorn from the harvest Of existence shall he reap
Who, in this abode of frailty, Hath not sown in Truth's highway.
Thine be rosary and prayer-place, Pious works and use austere,
Tavern mine and gong and convent, Magian wine and Christian lay!
Nay, forbid us not from drinking, Soilless Soufi; for the Lord
With sheer wine, in the Beginning, Mixed and kneaded this our clay.
No true Soufi, fit for heaven,'s He who hath not, like to me,
Left his patchcoat in the tavern Pawned, his scot for wine to pay.
Ease of Houri's lips and Heaven's Pleasaunces is not for him
Who the skirt of the Beloved Letteth from his hand away.
Hafiz, so God's grace and favour Overwatch and succour thee,
Be thou quit of Hell's concernment And assured from Heaven aye.
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